Building Bridges
by Tanya Reed
Summary: It's been twenty years since Jake Stone and Eliot Spencer have seen each other.


Eliot blinked in the bright sunshine as he left the airport terminal. Somehow, the sun always seemed to shine brighter in Oklahoma. It was something he'd always liked, but this time it didn't feel right. He'd prefer the sky to reflect the solemn occasion with dark clouds and thunder.

Scowling because that thought was almost poetic, he settled his pack more comfortably over his shoulder and started looking for a beat up black Chevy. It didn't take long to spot it, his gaze meeting that of the driver, who raised a hand in greeting.

Just a few years earlier, Eliot would have rented a car at the airport and gone to a hotel, but that was before he'd gotten back in touch with his father and the two of them had made an effort to reconnect. Being together was still awkward, but they were slowly getting to know each other again.

"Hi, Pop," Eliot said as he approached the truck.

His father got out and smiled. As it had in both of his previous visits home, the age in his father's face surprised him. When Eliot was eighteen, his father had looked old and worn. He'd aged exponentially since then and looked a decade older than his sixty-five years. His blue eyes were dull, and his face was creased and lined. Hair that had once been dark was completely gray, and his frame was almost gaunt. He towered over Eliot, who took after his mother's side of the family, but not as much as he once had. Years of worry had gradually weighed him down, stooping his shoulders.

The lines on his face deepened with his smile. "Flight all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Throw your bag in the back, and we'll get you home and settled. I'm sorry about Irma."

Eliot almost winced at the reminder of why he was there. "Thanks. How's Aunt Norma doing?"

"Fine. Jake's coming home."

Eliot stilled. "What's Uncle Isaac think about that?" He'd heard there'd been a falling out when Jake had left the family business.

His father shrugged. "I doubt Jake'll be staying with him."

Eliot made a non committal sound. He'd been surprised when he'd heard Jake had up and left in the first place. His cousin must have finally accepted he couldn't save everyone and broken loose. Over twenty years too late as far as Eliot was concerned.

They drove the rest of the way in relative silence, but it wasn't too uncomfortable. Neither of them were big talkers and they didn't have a lot in common these days except beer and football. By the time they got to his father's place, it was dark, and Eliot had zoned out, his mind finally allowing him to process the fact that he'd come to say good-bye to the woman he loved most in the world.

XXX

Jake Stone stumbled into the little diner where his mama used to sometimes take him and his sister for pancake breakfasts when his father was sleeping off a drinking binge. The old place looked the same as it had when he was growing up, a little worn but homey. At this time of the day, it was mostly empty, and nobody seemed to notice his less than graceful entrance.

"Jenkins has got to fix that," he mumbled to himself.

It had been a year since he'd been here, a year since his life had changed so completely that he almost didn't recognize it anymore. He was afraid he'd feel too big for this place, too different. What he felt instead was a comforting dose of home. A good part of that feeling was the waitress coming towards him. She was in her mid to late sixties, tall, with dark hair streaked with gray. She smiled warmly when she saw him.

"Jake Stone! Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Hi, Myrna." He smiled back. He'd known her his whole life, and she'd always been kind to him. "I've been working up north."

"We've missed you around here." Her face clouded. "I was sad to hear about Irma. She was a good woman."

"Yes, ma'am, she was," Jake agreed.

His grandmother had been so much more than that. She was stability when the rest of his life was chaos. She was love when family mostly meant pain. She was warmth and kindness and kisses, a much needed relief from the constant strain his father had put on everything. He'd loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone else in his life, and knowing she was gone left a huge, gaping hole in his chest, but he couldn't say those things. As a child, Jake had learned not to express his true thoughts or feelings, and he still guarded them closely.

"Come sit down, and I'll get you a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. On the house."

"Thanks."

"Have you been down to see your mama?"

Jake's stomach clenched. "Not yet."

"Give her my regards when you do, will you?"

"I will."

She nodded and started for the counter. Jake took a seat at a small, scarred table by the window. He watched people go by and marveled at how slowly the world still seemed to move in town, especially when compared to his new life.

Myrna came and turned the coffee cup on the table over to fill it. She placed a piece of pie in front of him, and Jake took a deep breath, absorbing the familiar scent.

"Thanks."

She squeezed his shoulder gently and left him alone to think. He was stirring his coffee when he saw his uncle's truck go by and stilled. There'd been someone in the passenger seat, and the old truck had been going slowly enough for Jake to get a good look at him. Though the face was older than Jake remembered, he recognized it right away. Even with the long hair and twenty added years, he'd know that face anywhere. It resembled his own too much for him not to.

Eliot.

He felt sudden sadness that had nothing to do with the aching loss of his grandmother. At one time, Eliot had been his best friend. They'd done everything together right from the time they'd started walking and talking until one week after their high school graduation, when it came time to make a choice. Eliot had left, and Jake had stayed. They'd never spoken again.

When Eliot didn't return, Jake had both envied and resented his cousin for leaving. He'd heard rumours about Eliot finally reconnecting with his father, but he hadn't seen him and he hadn't wanted to.

That quick glimpse of him through the diner window opened up a flood of buried memories. Jake's life was broadening now, and he could finally admit to himself how much he'd missed Eliot and how betrayed he'd felt when Eliot had left him, even though their last fight had been because Eliot had wanted Jake to go with him.

Jake stared into his coffee, his hands tight around the mug as he thought of that day. His reasons for staying had been so clear—his sister, Rebecca, and his mother, his father, the family business. There had been too much responsibility. Looking back now, he knew he'd probably do it again. At the time, he'd been angry that Eliot hadn't understood.

Now it looked as if Jake would have to face Eliot again. What would that be like after all this time? Would his cousin look down on him for choosing to stay for another twenty years? Would Eliot still be angry? Was Jake himself still angry? They'd just been boys then, could they speak to each other now as men?

XXX

Eliot had always hated funerals and everything that went along with them. Visitations were no exception and, when he climbed out of the driver's seat of his father's truck, he hesitated. The funeral home in front of him was small and white, constructed from what had once been someone's home. There were still cheery yellow curtains in the windows. If it weren't for the large stone slab outside declaring, 'Tucker and Sons', you'd never know how much death the place had seen.

It was late. Eliot had purposefully waited until the end of the scheduled viewing so there would be as few people there as possible. He didn't want an audience when he said good-bye to his granny.

As Eliot stood there, he saw his cousin, Rebecca, come out with his Aunt Norma. There were three towheaded children with them, but there was no sign of either Jake or Uncle Isaac. Eliot curled his lip in disgust. Uncle Isaac probably couldn't be bothered to get off of his bar stool.

Eliot had hated his uncle for as long as he could remember. Uncle Isaac was a violent drunk who never had a kind word for anyone, especially Jake. Eliot could remember the impotent rage he'd felt when he'd see the traces of his uncle's anger on Jake's skin—but never on Rebecca's or Aunt Norma's. Jake had learned early to attract his father's wrath so he was the only one to ever get hurt. Eliot had hated it, hated that he was always too small to protect his cousin. Even when they were older and both had joined the football team, Jake had told him firmly to stay out of it.

Eliot's anger sparked again as he remembered how Jake had thrown his plan for their escape back into his face. They'd had the biggest fight of their lives as Jake, who was usually the easy going one, had planted his feet and refused to budge. He'd insisted that his family needed him, that everything could fall apart without him. Nothing Eliot said would move him, and so Eliot—always the more volatile—had lost his temper. He'd enlisted alone and hadn't looked back.

He'd thought about his cousin a lot since then but he'd never tried to contact him. One of the first things he'd asked his father after they'd reconciled was, "How's Jake?"

Eliot pushed thoughts of his cousin out of his head and steeled himself to approach the building. He couldn't quite believe his grandmother's body was in there, and he was grateful for whatever had pushed him to reconnect with his family. He'd been to see her just a few months before, and she'd reminded him of all the good times he'd had under her roof as a boy. After his mother had died, Eliot's father had been aloof and full of grief, but his grandmother had been love. It hurt to know he'd never feel her arms around him again.

Clenching his jaw, Eliot forced himself into the building. The last time he'd been there was when his mama died. The foyer had seemed so much bigger then, big and scary. Even though Eliot hadn't been that little boy for a long time, he still felt echoes of him. He could hear Granny's voice soothing him, telling him Mama was loving him from Heaven.

Eliot shook the thoughts from his head to study the board announcing which people were in which rooms. There were only two people waiting there for their friends and family. One he vaguely recalled as being the father of one of his classmates. The other was his grandmother. Irma Williams. There was no denying it. Seeing her name like that drove her death home. He scowled, because it was easier than tears, and slipped into the room.

His stomach twisted as he took in the rows of seats, empty now, though he knew Irma had been well loved in the community. The light coming in the window was dim, but it came to rest on the simple mahogany casket at the front of the room. Flowers surrounded it, mostly yellow daisies, her favorite flower, but also some roses and carnations. There were pictures, too. Pictures of her and the grandfather Eliot didn't remember. Pictures of her with her twin daughters—so alike that their sons shared the same face. Pictures of her with her grandchildren. Eliot saw himself in some of those and, most often, Jake was by his side.

As Eliot got closer, he finally caught a glimpse of her. She seemed so small lying there, her hands crossed and her eyes closed. Someone had laid a rose on her breast. He reached out to touch her but withdrew when he heard someone come into the room.

He turned to look into a face that was almost identical to his own. It was a little rounder and a little more clean cut. The eyes weren't as cold and the expression wasn't as hard, but at one point in their lives they could have easily changed places.

"Hi, Jake," Eliot said quietly, testing the waters.

"Eliot." Jake looked tense and wary.

"Long time."

"Yeah."

Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and approached the casket. Eliot studied him, noticing the changes twenty years had made in him.

"How have y..." he started.

At the same time, Jake said, "I heard y..."

Both of them stopped. Jake's eyes slid from Eliot to Granny's face. "She was somethin' else, wasn't she?"

"She knew how to flay you alive with her tongue."

"And how to give a hug."

They were both silent for a few minutes as they gazed down at the woman who'd loved them so much.

When the silence got a bit awkward, Eliot tried again. "How've you been?"

Jake glanced at him. "Good. I've been living in Portland."

"Oregon?" Eliot asked, stunned.

"Yeah. Why?"

"So have I. Almost four years now."

Jake looked at him incredulously. "You're kiddin'."

"Ever hear of the Bridgeport Brew Pub?"

"Yes."

"My place."

"That's crazy."

Eliot nodded, paused, then broached the subject they were avoiding. "I left it rough between us."

Jake's eyes turned sharp. "You left me to deal with him alone."

"You should have come with me."

He shook his head. "I couldn't. How could I leave Mama...Rebecca...alone with him? He'd stopped hitting me, but Rebecca was still small. I had to protect them."

"You can't live your life for other people."

"I'd do it again. For them."

"I know."

"You knew how much I wanted to leave."

"You hated me."

Jake turned his eyes back to their grandmother. "Maybe."

"Part of me knew you would. I would have died here."

"I did die here."

Jake's stark words sliced through Eliot's guts. "Why did you finally leave?"

"It was time."

They lapsed into silence again, and Eliot was very aware of the sound of hushed voices in the other room, the cool air from the air conditioner brushing his face, and the sharp floral scent that floated around the coffin. He ached all over, inside and out, as if he'd been in a fight with someone his equal.

Finally, Jake said, "She'd want us to accept our differences, to acknowledge we both did what we thought was right."

Eliot quirked up the left side of his mouth. "Can't unwrite the past."

"Somethin' like that."

"Remember her lemonade?" Eliot asked.

"Best lemonade I've ever had."

"Nothing better on a hot night after chasing frogs."

"She was the best part of this place."

"Hard to believe she's gone." Eliot reached out and touched her cheek. It was cold beneath his hand.

"Do you think she'd like it if I started coming to the Brew Pub for lunch?"

"Come after hours, and we'll have a beer."

"You make your own, right?"

"Yes" Eliot thought of some of Hardison's more unusual creations. "Stay away from the fancy ones."

Jake smiled. It looked a little rusty, but it was genuine. "Us sharing a beer? Granny would definitely approve."

"We'll do it for Granny...and for us."

"First drink's in her honour."

"Why wait until we're back in Portland?" Eliot clapped Jake on the back. "What are your plans tonight?"

"I didn't make any."

"Why don't we celebrate Granny's life?"

"At Cal's?"

It was Eliot's turn to smile. "A celebration of life bar brawl?"

"Why the hell not?"

"You're on."


End file.
